Ex Mens Oculus
by Shadowed Heart
Summary: A collection of ficlets written in response to online Harry Potter fiction challenges at the LiveJournal community 30 Minute Fics.
1. Grief

**Author's Note:**

This is a grouping of short ficlets written in response to challenges posted on the LiveJournal community 30-Minute Fics. Each chapter is an independent story unto itself, with varying characters, tones,and scenarios. All meant in fun and to keep my memory fresh. Hope you enjoy!

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**Challenge #32: King of Pain** Read the lyrics from "King of Pain" by the Police, pick a character, and write about said character's secret angst.

_Title:_ Grief

_Rating:_ G

_A/N:_ Completed in 33 minutes.

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_I have stood here before in the pouring rain  
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain  
I guess I always thought you could end this reign  
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain_

With the dull gray sky, filled with heavy ashen clouds, far above, she set out, taking long strides across the wet school grounds. No early-morning sun broke through those clouds, no color brightened the small, secluded world that enveloped Hogwarts, fitting around it and hiding it away forever. Indeed, it seemed as though color would never return to this place she had once loved. Everything that had made it cheerful at its best, and bearable at its worst, was gone.

She'd had to get out. Roused from an uneasy slumber, she'd felt the beginnings of panic clutching at her throat, immobilizing her. The need to flee had suddenly been as strong as any other animal instinct she had ever experienced.

Pausing mid-step at the far end of the lake, Minerva turned unseeing eyes in the direction of the choppy gray water. Cold, stinging drops of rain fell about her, permeating through her clothing, drenching her hair, rolling down her tired, worn face. She breathed deeply and hunched her thin shoulders, pulling the soaking cloak tighter about her shivering body.

Standing there atop the sloping bank of the loch, her mind jumped back across the years. How many times, when she'd been certain there would be no one to see, had she stood in this very spot? How many times had this spare bit of land comforted her in times of trouble, allowed her stability and a place to hide her worries away from prying eyes? All through the first war, through the days of Harry Potter's schooling, this spot had been her refuge, her safe house.

Now it had become even more personal. Sacred, one might say. With the stinging rush of air whipping about her in a wild endeavor to tear away her cloak, Minerva raised her eyes to the shining white tomb that sat upon the opposite bank. It was regal and comforting all at once, as had been the one who lay entombed within, and it brought a raw stinging ache to the back of her throat to see it.

She supposed it had been selfish of her to believe he alone would be their sole support, the only pillar in which they could rely and place all their faith. Had she asked too much of him in believing that, no matter the state of the world, he would be able to mend it?

It had been selfish. Just as it was selfish now to be angry with him for his desertion, for leaving this heavy burden with her. For succumbing to human mortality when he was supposed to be invincible, supposed to be there with them always.

Her own fault - it was her own fault that he was gone. The decision to send for Severus, for the traitor, on that fateful day had rested with her. He would never have been the wiser to the goings-on, had it not been for her orders.

Eyes tearing, she made no attempt to brush away the dark strands of hair that blew across her face. The marble stood out, a pale splash across a dark and dingy world. Her face took on a bleak and desolate look. The others had forgiven her for her mishaps all too readily, but she knew she could never truly forgive herself.

Cold. She was so cold, and so empty. It seemed impossible that she had once been filled with the fire of trust, and devotion, and love. Shivering, Minerva sought warmth where there was none from the moist cloak wrapped about her body, and from the biting rain, and felt the pain of loss overwhelm her.

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	2. The Satisfaction of Page 394

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Challenge #33: Page 394 The only requirement is to have Severus Snape tell another HP character to turn to page 394.**

**Title:** The Satisfaction of Page 394

**Rating:** PG-13

**A/N:** 38 minutes minus spell/grammar check.

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"Roderick! Bring that forward now!"

Seated behind his large ebony desk, Severus Snape watched as the scarlet blush and look of embarrassed foreboding passed across the face of the fourth-year student. It was obvious that the damnable brat did not want to turn in whatever it was that he had been sneaking looks at for the entire lesson.

The boy pressed his lips together as though steeling himself; and, rising from his seat, he shuffled forward with a thick leather-bound book clutched tightly in his arms. When he reached the front of the room, Roderick slid the book hastily onto his professor's desk and stepped back, his eyes wide.

_Taken illegally from the Restricted Section, no doubt_, Severus thought. He glanced briefly at the tome – and then glanced again. His dark eyes opened wide and then narrowed quickly as they slid across the embossed, silvery script of the cover.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," he snapped in agitation, reaching out and sliding the text beneath a stack of parchment. "And I shall be speaking to your Head of House concerning this matter. Get back to work."

An hour later, the professor of Potions sat in blessed solitude within the sanctuary of his office. He was attempting to grade a pile of essays he had assigned to his NEWT class, but found that his mind was simply not up to the task of cooperating at the moment. Tossing his quill on the desk, he scowled.

What on earth would have possessed the little beast to bring such a book into his dungeons? And to be snatching looks at it when he should have been working on his sleeping draught -- it was intolerable. The boy could have killed them all with the inattention he'd been showing to his cauldron, and for what?

He would take pleasure in informing Minerva of her charge's inadequacies the instant he saw her. Spotting the object in question half hidden beneath the same stack of papers, he pulled it free and turned it over in his hands. _The Sorcerer's Guide to All Things Sexual_, indeed. He snorted in derision. As though any competent wizard would have need of such an aid.

Deciding to get back to work, he tossed it to the side and reached for his quill; the sound of pages flapping open, however, drew his attention. Stretching out a hand to close the bothersome book, he was stopped when a splash of color caught his eye. For the second time that day, Severus' eyes widened in shock.

---

"Severus, do you have a moment?"

Before the professor had time to respond, his office door had opened and clicked closed again, and his rival Head of House was standing in front of him. At any other moment, the hands resting jauntily on her hips and the flaring nostrils would have been the signal for the beginning of one of their infamous arguments, but given the fact that a highly distressing ache was currently pulsing through his groin, Severus found that he really had other pressing matters on his mind.

"I meant to seek you out at dinner, but you weren't there," Minerva said. "I wanted to discuss your most recent deduction of House points."

He managed to keep his surprise to learn that he'd read straight through the evening meal to himself. Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat, attempting to relieve some of his discomfort.

"Yes, well, I had other matters to take care of. At any rate, I caught one of your precious Gryffindors reading offensive and inappropriate material in class." Tugging the book free from the drawer he had hastily stashed it in, he flung it in her direction across the desk, as though casting away a mound of filth.

Leaning forward, she plucked up the book, read the title, and gave a light laugh. "Fifty points for this? Why, I daresay nearly all of the students have had a peek at it over the past few weeks. Haven't you seen them passing it about in the corridors and at mealtimes?"

"You may find the situation humorous, Minerva, but I will certainly not condone such a book!" Severus snarled, annoyed that she was not viewing the situation in the seriousness that it deserved. "It is full of lewd pictures, and suggestive descriptions, and -- er..."

"Severus, you hypocrite! You've gone through it, haven't you? And yet you dare naysay against Aidan Roderick?" A dark glare suddenly crossed the Deputy Headmistress' features, and she turned for the door, shaking her head in disgust.

Incensed, a scowling Severus rose suddenly from his chair. "Incidentally, chapter seventeen might be of interest you. Page 394 in particular," he leered, glaring at her retreating back as she swung his office door open. "It certainly held my attention."

He smirked grimly when she paused, taking pleasure in the fact that she seemed to have involuntarily clutched the book tighter in her grasp.

"Oh, really, now, Severus," she responded, her voice sounding as stiff as her posture. Free hand holding the door ajar, she tossed a backwards glance over her shoulder, surveying him shrewdly for a moment. He could not help but notice the downward sweep of her eyes. "That much is apparent. Although I rather thought it might have left you far more satisfied than you appear to be."

And so saying, she swept from the room with a highly contented smirk of her own, leaving the Potions Master blushing, furious, and without the colorful visualizations he had been intending to use to aid him with his predicament.

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	3. No Other Way

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**Challenge #89: The Death Scene** Write a death scene for either your favorite or least favorite HP character.

_Title:_ No Other Way

_Rating:_ PG

_A/N:_ Completed in 25 minutes.

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The surprise did not come from feeling the pressure of the glowing, hot tip of a wand against her throat. The surprise came instead from hearing the voice – his voice – slide smoothly into the silence of the night. It held the same nuances, the same tone and timbre, and yet it was so very, very different from what she remembered.

It was the differences that kept her back straight and her body stiffened as she was guided into a careful turn. And it was then, as her eyes fell upon him for the first time in decades, that the full impact of what he had done to himself hit her.

"You are lucky I found you first." He held his wand steady, making his intentions completely clear, but nevertheless reached out his other hand to caress her face.

The touch was cold, but it sparked the warmth she had felt for him once so long ago. She fought it away, tried to bury it by the contempt she felt for what he had become. "This is not the boy I knew once. You have destroyed yourself, so many times over."

He jerked his pale fingertips back away from the soft curve of her cheek and pressed the wood of his wand harder against her throat, burned by the words. "I have empowered myself!" he spat, eyes narrowing to furious slits. "Just as I would have empowered you! Have you forgotten that I once offered you everything?"

She shook her head in disgust, glaring at him. "You offered me _your_ dreams – never mine. And I would rather have perished, even then, than allow you to damn my soul as you have your own."

He drew back slightly, dropping his hand so that his wand hung loosely at his side. The anger she evoked caused his chest to swell, and his lip to curl into a sneer. How dared she spurn him with such brazen perversity?

In one fluid movement, he raised his arm and brought the back of his hand swiftly across her face. The force of his blow caused her to fall to her knees with a soft cry. Staring down his nose, he watched her defiantly wipe the thin trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Watched as she raised a hand to press gingerly against the pale cheek that would begin to bruise all too soon. The wince of pain and sharp intake of breath told him that the bone had most likely shattered.

An electric thrill of triumph ran through his body at seeing the pain he had inflicted. "I would have given you the world to hold in the palm of your hand. If ever you loved me, why deny me? Why deny yourself?"

Gasping, she raised her stony gaze to his. "If ever you loved _me_, why turn away from us? You don't realize you are _dead_. You don't see that you have killed yourself."

The laugh was a high and cold sound. "No, Minerva, I am alive. But you … how do you feel to know that you are living your last moments?"

Her lips curved into the slightest of smiles. "I have always known I would die at your hands. I may love my murderer, but yours, Tom? Oh, how could I?"

There was a rushing sound, a flash of brilliant green light. And Minerva McGonagall was no more. Bending on one knee, the man once known as Tom Riddle reached out a hand to smooth back her dark hair, to trail his fingers over the purpling patch of skin. Her face registered the slightest shock, as did all the victims of the Killing Curse, but he imagined that her eyes stared at him accusingly.

"My Lord?"

The wizard called Lord Voldemort shifted his gaze to the robed torchbearer beside him. "Come, Bella, we go."

Bellatrix Lestrange pushed back the mask that cloaked her face to reveal an expression of stunned ire. "But – my Lord –" She gestured towards the body with her flaming torch.

"_I will not have this body defiled, Bella!_" he roared, turning his wand on her. Its tip glowed menacingly. "Now go."

As his follower turned away, he allowed himself the indulgence of one final glance at the woman dead before him. Pressing his fingers to his thin lips, he transferred the kiss to her forehead before sliding her eyes closed. He, too, had always known she would die at his hands.

For them, there could be no other way.

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**Author's Note:** I borrowed and slightly revised the lines "I may love my murderer, but yours, Tom? Oh, how could I?" from the great novel _Wuthering Heights._


	4. An Unwanted Missive

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**Challenge #59: The Bad News Challenge** Someone gets some bad news. What the news is, and who is involved, is up to you.

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**Title:** An Unwanted Missive

**Rating:** G

**A/N:** 32 minutes. An attempt at putting Snape into a comical situation.

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A loud avian shriek shot through the air, and Severus Snape glanced up from his place at the High Table in time to see a large charcoal-colored bird sweep imperiously into the Hall. It was momentarily followed by many others; clearly, the day's mail had arrived.

The Potions Master watched as the black owl winged a circle before landing beside his plate. It raised a leg and brandished a rolled piece of parchment at its surly master, who took it with a sigh. "What have you brought me now, Archipelago?" he asked, spotting the imprint of a wasp pressed into the wax seal. "Certainly no good news."

Hooting dolefully, the owl dipped its beak into a glass of water and rose once more into the air, but Severus took no notice. Breaking the seal and unrolling the missive, dark eyes picked over the ridiculously fancy cursive, his attention caught by phrases here and there. It was not long before a black scowl affixed itself to his features.

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Dearest Severus _

_It's been such a dreadfully long time since last I heard from you! Honestly, can't you even make the effort to pick up a quill and write a 'hello' every now and then? What can be so terribly important in those dank dungeons of yours that takes precedence over the outside world? Of course, I don't mean to chastise you, but really ..._

_At any rate, it is my sincerest hope that you are faring well. I heard what a frightful illness you came down with this past July -_

Illness? Severus' brows knitted together. Any illness he'd supposedly contracted was news to him. To his knowledge (which, he thought with a twinge of annoyance, was highly credible, as it _was _his health, after all) he had experienced no such illness, unless the cough he'd had towards the end of the month could now be counted as such. But then he considered the source; this particular letter-writer did have quite a flair for exaggeration.

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You really must learn to take your health into consideration -- you know, you aren't getting any younger, Severus (forgive me, but 'Professor' really is much too formal a title for you) and it would be most unfortunate to have you prematurely dead._

Ah, and there were the sickeningly sweet proclamations of concern for his well-being. How often had he made this correspondent aware that he had no use for such declarations of solicitude? Lifting a slice of toast to his mouth, he took a bite, moved on to the next paragraph -- and proceeded to choke of his breakfast.

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Just wanted to drop you an owl, 'Professor,' to inform you that I am coming for a visit, and will be arriving soon. Severus, I can just picture the look that has crossed your face at reading this, but before you explode, know that I have already owled Headmaster Dumbledore, and he has welcomed me most warmly._

_Oh, but you must look like a great feathered bird at the moment, all fluffed up and furious. Do forgive me for saying so, but there's no use sulking -_

And that just went to show how well the sender knew him. Hunching his shoulders against the many audacities committed against him, the professor sent a bitter glare down the length of the table to where the Headmaster sat. It did not go unnoticed that the man appeared to be avoiding his narrowed stare. He wondered how long the pair of conspirators had been in contact -- surely not since the last visit? Oh, would he have some strong words for old Albus once he managed to corner him alone. No matter what the old man had promised, there was no way Severus would stomach such a visit.

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Oh, but Sev! You're angry with me now because I haven't given you the proper advanced warning -- I know how you hate surprises -- but think about it! We'll have such fun; just like old times! You'll take me out, of course ... not to those seedy pubs you dragged me on my previous visit to the school, but really out. Perhaps the theater? And I do hope you've learned the polka by now, you know it's always been my favorite._

_Must be off -- there's so much to do in preparation, what with packing and such, although I wouldn't expect you to understand such trivial matters. I suspect you don't get out much. Oh yes -- and Auntie Cassia sends her regards. Speaking of which, have you done something recently to anger her? She seems a bit miffed at you, if you catch my meaning, but whatever you've done this time, God love you for a fool!_

The angry pounding of a fist against the table sent his goblet flying off the edge, but the snarl Severus emitted caused poor Professor Flitwick to fall from the stack of cushions piled high on his chair.

"Really, Severus, must you?" the tiny wizard asked as he got to his feet, a hand pressed against his chest. But then he spotted the feminine script and grinned roguishly. "Ah, you old dog! I never would have pegged you as having a piece on the sly! Your female giving you trouble, boy?"

"She's not my female," Severus growled in disgust, "and I pity the man who's coerced into marrying her."

Sneering out over the Great Hall, he spotted the Headmaster edging his way towards the door, shooting him furtive glances. So the old man thought he'd be able to sneak away, did he? Crumpling the letter and stuffing it into a pocket of his robes, he stood so suddenly his chair fell over backwards. With the words "Your Darling Sister for Always, Lucia Vespasia" sticking into his mind, he set off across the Hall, determined to catch up to the meddlesome old goat.

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	5. Forsaken

**Challenge #59: The Bad News Challenge** Someone gets some bad news. What the news is, and who is involved, is up to you.

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**Title:** Forsaken

**Rating:** PG

**A/N:** Different character, different situation, different mood. I'm back to the melancholy and the morose with this one. Thirty-five minutes.

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The young boy ambled slowly along the dirt road, a bright red and yellow ball clutched tightly in his hands. No more than four or five years old, he was not particularly small for his age, but he was thin and scraggly. Sickly looking, some might have said.

Every so often, he would glance back over his shoulder. He wanted to be seen if Mama or Da happened to poke a head out of the window to check on him. They had told him not to stray too far, and he was afraid they might make him come back inside if he disobeyed.

It seemed so long in his child's mind since the last time he had been allowed out of doors. Then, it had been warm and sunny and green; now it was still sunny, but the grasses were beginning to bend their heads in the cool wind.

His little legs carried him off the road and a little ways up the grassy hill beside it, where he plopped down. The ball tried to roll away when he set it in the weeds, and he grabbed at it hastily, not wanting to lose it. It was the only toy Da hadn't packed away. A line of concern creased his pale forehead as he wondered if his teddy was afraid of the dark inside that big box. He would have been.

"What are you doing?"

The boy turned around, startled, but relaxed when he saw the girl smiling down at him. She was a little older than he was, and her Mama was friends with his. They played together sometimes, when their Mamas sent them outside.

"Nothing."

She crouched down beside him in the grass. "How did your arm get hurt?" she asked pointedly, as only a child can.

"In a dream," he said simply, looking down at the bandage around his forearm. It didn't hurt anymore, but it still made him think about the dream. It was a scary one, full of growling furry faces and sharp teeth, and it had seemed like days before he had been able to wake up from it.

They sat in childish innocence on the hillside. She said she liked his ball, and he told her the ribbons in her hair looked pretty. She smiled at him before placing a soft, quick kiss on his cheek. He giggled, and didn't even realize that old Mrs. Lucine was frowning at them from over her garden fence.

The sun passed over their faces as they lay in the grass, watching it sink and talking of what they believed to be the more important things in life. He was trying to decide whether or not to tell her how worried he was about his teddy when a voice cut through the air.

"Ainsley, what are you doing?"

The pair sat up, shielding their eyes from the glaring rays of the sun. A group of children had come walking down the hill behind them, but they were older, perhaps ten. One of the girls had a ribbon in her hair and looked very much like his companion.

"We're talking about caterpillars, Sissy," Ainsley said, smiling up at the girl. "They're so fuzzy and -"

"What are you doing with _him_, Ainsley?"

The way Sissy's voice sounded confused and frightened him. It wasn't annoyed, the way it sometimes was when they irritated her with what she called their "baby games." It was mean. He stared at the other children, his large brown eyes wide. They looked mean, too.

"He's my friend," Ainsley said, her voice thick with tears. She knew something was wrong, too, and scooted closer to him.

Sissy winced and roughly pulled her to her feet. "You can't be friends with him. He's a _werewolf_, dummy. We're going home, and I'm telling Mum on you." She started down the hill, dragging his crying friend behind her.

A werewolf? Why would Sissy say such a thing? Werewolves were terrible, horrible monsters that howled at the moon and tried to hurt people. There was nothing like that around here.

Remus turned and felt a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his head. When he touched his fingers to the hurt, he felt a sticky warmth. Tears welled in his eyes, and the children began to laugh at him. Mrs. Lucine was back in her garden, and she was laughing, too.

"Get away, werewolf! Get away!"

They threw more rocks at him. He tripped and tumbled down the hill, tears now spilling down his cheeks. Why were they being so mean? He wasn't a werewolf -- _couldn't_ be one! But then he remembered his dream, and the nasty bite marks under the bandage, and knew it was true. He ran down the dirt road and banged into his house, but not even snuggling into the safety of his Mama's arms could stop little Remus' crying.

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	6. Cloud In My Heart

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Challenge #79: Describe It To Me** Write a piece on anything Harry Potter, tell a tale or set a scene, using no dialogue, only description. 

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**Title: **Cloud In My Heart 

**Rating:** G

**Pairing:** Severus/Minerva

**A/N:** Written in twenty-eight minutes, and one of the only pieces I've done in present tense. The title is taken from a poem written by Sir Alfred Lord Tennyson, called "Gone," and reads as follows:

Gone -- flitted away,  
Taken the stars from the night and the sun  
From the day!  
Gone, and a cloud in my heart.

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For a long while he wondered why it was that she would not allow words of farewell to pass between them; but now, time has passed and he has grown accustomed to their silent partings. It surprises him, sometimes disconcerts him, that gentle touches and tender glances have come to mean far more to him than ever he could have imagined -- but this, too, he has come to accept.

They journey together to the front door, and it is both the longest and the most brief of distances. Every step falls heavy on their ears, bringing them closer to the crossroads they wish never to see again each time they are reunited.

He pulls her to him when they reach the entrance hall, enfolding her thin frame within his strong arms. She melds her soft curves against his lean, angular body as he presses his face into her dark hair, inhaling deeply. Hints of vanilla and lemon verbena reach his nose, and he files the memory away in his mind, not knowing when -- if ever -- he will be allowed to experience her scent again.

There, in the dark hall, he manages to cast a protective circle, and wishes he could keep her from ever leaving it. She knows this, but after a moment pushes him away, and he reluctantly releases her. It is time for them to part ways, for the delay has already been too long.

Gently, her lips graze against his in a soft whisper. She steps back and looks into his dark eyes, a single tear dropping from the corner of her own. He raises his hand to brush it away, cool fingertips trailing down the curve of her cheek. And all at once he understands why she refuses to allow verbal good-byes.

He understands, because for once it is not he going off on a fool's errand. For once, he is the one being left behind to wait, and to worry, and to agonize.

To speak of farewell is truly a damning reality. It brings to light the dangers that they face, and the perils, and most certainly the impending doom that may await them. In these uncertain times of war, it brings to light the fact that in every parting there is an image of death.

He blinks back sudden grisly visions and strokes a hand through her hair, possibly for the last time, but does not bid her farewell. Instead, he opens the door and sees her through it. There is no heavenly moon tonight in the sky, nor celestial stars, and he watches as her shadow fades away into the blackest of nights.

When the only sound remaining is the howl of the wind, he closes the door, feeling the vise tighten inexorably about his chest. Moving into the parlor, he strikes a match to light the dusty lamp and, when the flame glows bright, places it in the window. He knows for him there will be only darkness until her return, but he sinks into a chair to keep vigil, praying the light will guide her back to his arms so that she might ease the cloud in his heart.

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_  
A/N: The line "in every parting there is an image of death" is George Eliot, taken from "Amos Barton," chapter ten (under the pseudonym of Mary Ann Evans Cross).

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	7. Reconnaissance

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Challenge #18: Polyjuice Wherein, someone uses Polyjuice Potion for nefarious, funny, or entirely benevolent purposes.**

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_Title:_ Reconnaissance  
_Rating:_ G  
_A/N: _Somewhere around 40 minutes, but far too long for spell-check and editing.

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"There y'are, missus. Jus' you call on ol' Jim if'n he gives ya any whatfor." 

She inclined her stately head towards the dirty, leering guard as he pushed the key into the tarnished bolt. "Thank you, I shall," she said, a brow arching high on her smooth, pale forehead. Jim pulled open the heavy cell door, and she took a deep breath before stepping inside. It closed behind her with an ominous clang.

While her vision slowly adapted to the darkness within the cell, her sense of smell seemed to sharpen considerably. The small space stank of spoilt food, unwashed bodies, and human waste; she felt her stomach churn, and was thankful that she had declined tea on the ship.

She spotted him quickly once her eyesight had properly adjusted, and she took a step forward, lowering the hood of her cloak as she went to reveal her fine golden head.

Back pressed against the cool wall, he sat on a molding pile of straw with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fine clothing had been replaced with tattered gray material, crudely fitted together to form an ill-fitting outfit, and his once-impeccable hair hung in limp, greasy strands about his face.

When he took no notice of her presence, she nudged his leg with the toe of her leather boot, and spoke his name. Her voice shot out and reverberated against the cold stone walls.

"Lucius."

His head shot up, and he stared at her in bewilderment. "How – what – you –" he sputtered, and then suddenly he was on his feet, bearing down on her. It was incredible how quickly he had masked any vulnerability behind a shield of arrogant distemper. "What took you so _damned_ long, Narcissa?"

"You know they don't allow prisoners of your status very many liberties anymore, my dear," Narcissa replied lightly, reaching forward to brush her fingertips over the scraggly beard that had begun to form on his chin. "I had to call in all of my favors just for ten minutes with you. My, but we do look worse for the wear, don't we?"

Lucius caught her wrist in a bone-crushing grip and twisted her arm behind her back, pulling her roughly against his chest. "Well?" he demanded, eyes boring into her.

His breath was hot on her face, and Narcissa breathed through her mouth, determined not to inhale the sickly sweet stench it. Tilting her head, she brought her lips to his, kissing him chastely before pulling away.

"Narcissa, is that any way to greet your husband?" He considered her for a moment through slitted eyes; then, quick as a flash, he swung a hand backwards across her face with a resounding smack. Before she could respond, his hands were groping at her body and his lips were pressed against hers again, tongue wresting its way into the heat of her mouth.

Once satisfied, he retreated to the narrow strip of window, arms clasped behind his back. "How fares the boy?"

"Your son was involved in a fight on the train home." She scowled at her husband's back, pressing a hand to her bruising cheek. "With Harry Potter."

"Never fear, love. The Dark Lord will rid the world of that meddlesome half-blood brat soon enough. And the manor?"

Brow creasing in consternation, her hands slipped to her hips and her pale eyes flashed. "The manor is no longer as you know it," Narcissa snapped. "They were knocking at the door before the ink on your sentencing papers had even dried. Ministry workers and Aurors swarming the place – it's an outrage!"

"Have they found anything?" Lucius asked quietly, turning to gaze at her.

"You know they have." She stared back at him, her face full of scorn and resentment. "Tell me, Lucius, is there anything more? Anything to bring further cause for embarrassment to our family? Or to the Dark Lord, more importantly?"

Arms crossed, Narcissa watched the doubt creep into her husband's eyes, and saw the moment of decision. "The fourth stall on the left in the stables. Six meters down, beneath the earthen layer, there is a passage. It winds for a kilometer to the south. Enlist Carrows and Yaxley ... or perhaps your sister ..."

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She could feel Lucius' eyes following every step she took back to the waiting ship. They discomfited her more so than the icy wind that ripped at her skirts and the stinging drops of seawater that bounced off the black rocks and soaked through her cloak. 

It was a relief to gain the gangplank and feel the solid wooden deck beneath her once more. "I am going below deck and _do not_ wish to be disturbed," she said sternly to the crew. "Is that perfectly clear?" She waited only a moment for the nods and grunts before moving down the stairs to the cabin below deck.

Once inside, she closed the door to the cabin behind her and leaned her forehead against the wooden frame. She had not expected the time to be so exhausting, and wanted a moment's rest.

"You're soaking wet."

Sliding her eyes open with a sigh, she nodded and quickly divested herself of her heavy cloak. Draping it over the back of a chair, she placed her hands on her hips and faced the other occupant of the cabin. "I see you haven't been up on deck as of late. It's raining."

"No, I have not been up on deck lately. I didn't see cause for it." Severus unfolded himself from where he sat and crossed the small room, his step faltering slightly as the boat tilted in the rough seas. Cupping her chin in his palm, he studied the purpling bruise spreading on her cheek. "Did he –"

"Consequences of the character," she murmured, circling his neck with her arms.

But when her lips brushed against his, he pulled away sharply and glared at her. "No. Not until you are back."

Eyebrows arched high in surprise against the porcelain forehead before the eyes beneath them creased in approved amusement. With a nod, she pushed away from him. "In that case, I'd like to loosen the restraints on this damned dress for a bit. I don't know how she can wear such a thing … Where is Nymphadora, by the way?"

"Right here." The cabin door clicked open and a lanky, dripping wet man stepped through. He made sure the door was locked again before transforming into the young woman with bubble-gum pink hair. Her lips twitched into an amused smirk. "Wotcher, Auntie. Find anything out?"

"Yes, I –" She gasped and reached to steady herself against the wall, clutching at her side. Fair blonde hair lengthened and grew dark as night; pale eyes were clouded by a bottle green haze; body heightened, grew fuller. And all in less than one minute, Narcissa Malfoy melted away to be replaced with Minerva McGonagall.

"Hour's up," Tonks grinned cheekily.

Minerva glanced up from struggling to loosen her corset ties. "How very astute of you," she gasped, giving up in the end and splicing the binding open with a simple severing charm. "Nymphadora, you mentioned dinner at the Weasley's this evening – can I leave it to you to inform Molly that her husband is going to be on raid duty a while longer?"

The young witch nodded, and then glanced out the portal window. "Looks like we'll be docking soon. I'd better be getting back up to sailor duty."

As she disappeared through the door, Severus silently slipped a vial of murky Polyjuice into Minerva's hand. She looked at it for a moment before lifting her gaze to him, an eyebrow raised and lips pursed. He smirked and pressed a chaste kiss to them. "Well done. Your first reconnaissance mission in human form … admittedly, not your own, but still mercifully lacking in hairballs …"

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	8. Mars is Bright Tonight

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Challenge #4: **What would Firenze make of Mars being bright, and what does this bode for our favorite characters? Write a ficlet about what the centaur sees, what actually happens, and if he ends up being right.

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**Title: **Mars Is Bright Tonight

**Rating:** PG

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The centaur paused as he stepped to the edge of the forest, reveling in the caress of the night's soft breeze against his bare torso and the rustle of leaves overhead. Stars twinkled in the inky darkness above, and he nodded in approval at the cloudless sky. He waited a moment before proceeding cautiously forward, feeling the earth shift from loamy soil to dewy grass beneath his hooves. When finally he stood in the center of the meadow, he raised his majestic head to gaze upon the infinite universe.

Immediately he noticed – Mars was bright.

The sound of a snapping twig broke harshly through the silence a few moments later, followed by the shuffling of the heavy, booted feet of the Hogwarts groundskeeper. "Evenin' Firenze," Hagrid said in greeting, emerging from the wood and approaching the centaur carefully. "Did'n' expect nobody to be aroun' so late an' all. 'S not any trouble brewin' with yer folk now, is there?"

"Mars is bright tonight," came the response. After a moment, the centaur lowered his eyes to meet the gaze of the giant hybrid. "Mars is bright," he repeated. "The heavens show this to be a night of revelation. One shall see that which shall come to be desired, whilst another shall be laid bare before both foe and ally."

Hagrid shifted his weight uneasily, passing his bow from one hand to the other. "Righ', well, I'll jus' be gettin' back then ... would'n' want ter disturb yeh none ... g'night, Firenze."

---

"For the love of Merlin, can't you bloody KNOCK?!"

Fleeing from the first floor bath reserved for professors' use only, Severus Snape hastily pulled the heavy door closed behind him just moments before a thunderous bang sounded from within and thick plumes of gray smoke belched from beneath the door in looping scarlet curls. Heaving a sigh and slumping against the cool stone of the wall, the professor swiped an arm across his perspiring forehead and silently thanked whatever gods-that-be for blessing him with impeccable reflexes. He held no reservations in his belief that had he been but a fraction of a second slower, the spell flung by his irate colleague would no doubt have landed him in the hospital wing for a week.

Placing a hand to his chest, he slowly and methodically worked to even the pace of his breathing; however, the rapid drum of his heart beneath his pale fingertips adamantly refused to abate in its intensity. "Oh, come now," he muttered as he straightened his robes. He felt more than a bit flustered by the entire situation and attempted to reason with himself. "It isn't as though there was even all that much of interest to see."

A pause. _"_Then again," Severus thought aloud, pushing away from the wall with a newly-forming grin on his lips, "when it comes to _her_, apparently there is much more to see than one would think." And so he headed gaily down the dungeon stairwell toward his rooms, a surprisingly superb image of a very enraged – and very naked – Minerva McGonagall emblazoned clearly in his mind. Clearly, he'd have to remember to forget to knock more often.

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End file.
